A Little Party Never Killed Nobody
by xLittleMermaidx
Summary: A 1920s AU inspired by the Great Gatsby. It's the summer of 1925, and Jefferson's party is in full swing for most. However, the night didn't start for Regina until a special blonde caught her eye. POV!Regina; 3rd installment of Swen Tales


The year was 1925, and it was a Saturday night in the month of July. Summer was in its full swing, as was the weekly party at Jefferson's. Investors, actors, bootleggers, Daddy-os, even gangsters would drive up in their breezers and Tin Lizzie's to the grand mansion to engage in drinking and dancing. There was always someone interesting to meet or simply mess around with. It was the best night of the week, and brunch conversations on Sunday would revolve around getting hopped up and fried the night before. It was impossible to have a bad time at Jefferson's.

There was never a time the party started or ended, and invitations were nonexistent. People showed when they showed, and they left when they left. I joined the party around eleven that evening, dolled up in my black flapper dress and gold-flowered headband. Most of the men and women were still sober enough to talk, as the night had barely begun and drinking limits had scarcely been reached. Poker tables were crowded, the dance floor was covered with flappers, and the bar area had many in casual conversation. The whole atmosphere was satisfying and natural to me. As I entered one of the lounges, I quickly greeted some men I knew before heading to the bar.

"Any specific giggle water for you, Regina?" asked Gus, the bartender.

"Surprise me," I winked as I sat down, observing the people around me.

The variety of people in one room always interested me as an artist. Laughter and cheering filled the room, along with smoke from fags. Gus handed me a glass of hooch, and I sipped on it while continuing my observations. My eyes landed on a pretty blonde standing in the corner alone. She wore a white, feathery flapper dress that matched her headband. She donned a red lip and dramatic eye, and her golden, wavy hair landed perfectly on her back and chest. She was quite the sight, although she did seem out of place, as if she was unsure about why she was there. I threw back the remainder of my drink then walked towards her. She straightened her back as she saw me coming, her eyes now fixed on me.

"Let me guess," I greeted, "this is your first Jefferson party."

"That obvious?" she blushed.

"Just a little," I answered, scrunching my nose. "Do you know anyone here?"

"I'm sure I know somebody, but, no, I haven't run into anyone yet," she shrugged. Her voice was an average pitch, but it was intriguing just as much.

"Allow me to point out some folks for you?" I slightly tilted my head, watching her body language. She had released some tension and appeared to be more comfortable now.

"Be my guest," she gestured her hand as to welcome my presence. "My name is Emma, by the way, Emma Swan."

"Regina Mills," I nodded, then made a small turn to the crowd.

"Over there is Gus," I motioned. "He doesn't have much status, but he is the usual bartender here and makes for good conversation if everyone else is a wet blanket. Although, once you're bent, not many people will bore you."

"At a Jefferson party, I'd hope not," she smirked.

"So you do know our gracious host?" I asked, lifting a brow.

"I've heard stories about him," she said, "but they sound full of it."

"Yes, most are," I agreed and began walking back to the bar, Emma just a step behind me. "All you really need to know about Jefferson is he is an investor and bootlegger, and he rarely shows his face at his parties. He adores the scene of it all, but more-so when he is the guest. Being talked about is alright, but being talked to by a crowd of people telling the same story over and over becomes a nuisance."

I lifted two fingers towards Gus before continuing.

"You see the brunette in red over there?" I asked, nodding to a flapper dancing. The bartender came back with two shots of vodka, and Emma and I both picked ours up.

"What about her?" Emma watched the woman while downed her shot.

"Name is Ruby, and I believe the man with her is her Daddy, if you know what I mean," I said in a slightly deep tone, smirking.

"I thought I sensed that vibe from her," the blonde commented. It was so easy to this woman. I've always been good with people, but something about Emma felt natural, like we already knew each other.

"Her mother is even worse," I chuckled. "Her real name is Elizabeth, but we secretly call her Granny."

Emma raised her eyebrow, signaling for further explanation.

"Face stretcher," I said, acknowledging her comprehending nod.

"Oh look, she's over there," I motioned to the woman who was kicking her heels with a young man.

"The hell," Emma muttered. "Could she be anymore caked up?"

"It's quite sad, really," I laughed. "But, she is an escort, surprisingly, which is how they have so much money."

"Well, at least she keeps it interesting," Emma shrugged and smiled. I smiled back in amusement before setting the shot glass down.

"Come along, dear, more people this way," I grabbed her hand nonchalantly and led her to the ballroom.

The ballroom did not contain much talent within it. Those who are regularly adequate dancers were now intoxicated heelers, and every so often you'd hear a flapper gasp right before falling to the ground and laughing. I mazed Emma through the crowd, holding her hand until we made it to the staircase.

"I want to introduce you to Belle," I said over the music. "People think she's a Dumb Dora, but she is actually quite smart."

"What does she do?" Emma inquired, speaking close to my ear.

"She's a writer, but she has money through her husband, Fitzgerald Gold. He owns many stocks and is both revered and feared in the business world," I warned.

Belle was sitting at a table on the platform above the ballroom. I escorted Emma up there, taking a champagne off a waiter's tray as we climbed the creme marble staircase.

Atop the staircase, you had a panoramic view of the entire ballroom, and you could see people gathered and splashing in the pool through the pristine windows that wrapped around the ballroom. Servers had trays lifted above the crowd, and another bartender was placed at the second bar at the upper right corner of the ballroom. There was not a foot of space that wasn't filled by a person. Everyone was here to have a good time, and I lived for it.

"Feeling more at ease now, dear?" I asked Emma.

"Most definitely. Thanks, by the way," she said, her hands gripping the marble rail.

"Let's go," I turned, taking her hand again. It was less crowded up here, but a pretty girl like her could easily get swooped up into the crowd and find herself dancing with a stranger.

"Belle, dear, how are you?" I greeted, walking up to the brunette sitting in her gold, just-past-the-knees dress.

"Fantastic, and you?" her Australian accent shone through, despite living in New York for five years now.

"Bee's knees," I answered, "This is my new friend, Emma Swan. Emma, this is Belle Gold."

"Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you!" Belle said enthusiastically.

"Pleasure is all mine," Emma greeted back, and the two exchanged quick pecks on the drink.

"And who is this, Belle?" I asked, regarding the dark-haired man with blue eyes sitting across from her. I leaned in to him, smiled, and winked,

"I'm Regina."

"August," he said. American, I noted.

"Nice to meet you," I said casually.

"Same to you," he replied. "And how do you know the sweet Belle here?"

"Well, don't you know?" I mocked, lifting a brow and smirking. "She's only the richest wife here. The real question is, how do you know this beaut?"

"I happen to be her agent," he said, tilting his head.

"You better make her rich and famous then," I commented. One of the workers was coming close to our table, finding his way through the crowd of drunks and dancers. His bright white apron glowed through the crowd, making the workers easy to spot.

"Darling, I need four gins for this table," I requested, and I quickly pulled Emma in closer to my waist, both of us holding onto the other. "This one has never tasted Jefferson gin, so it better be the best."

"Of course," he nodded.

"Splendid," I smiled. "Now beat it; I don't want to wait all night." I loosened my grip on Emma, warning her that she is about to have the best night of her night.

* * *

Emma and I stayed with Belle and August for some time, discussing careers and other people in our lives. Miss Swan was taken aback by Jefferson's powerful gin at first but acquired the taste soon enough. I ordered more, but Belle got drunk quickly. I'm afraid she tends to be whiny instead of amusing when she becomes too ossified, so I excused Emma and I. Neither of us felt like dancing at the moment, so I took her on a tour of Jefferson's garden.

The garden was behind the house, with a lighted fountain in the center of it. He had planted all kinds of flowers: roses, tulips, azaleas. A stone path circled throughout the garden, and lights had been installed in the ground to light the pathway. Just around the fountain was a large oak with a wooden swing attached to the branch above. A small bench was by it, making the scene quite romantic.

I sat on the bench while Emma chose her spot on the swing.

"So," she started, "what is your story of success?"

"And what makes you think I have such a story, Miss Swan?" I tilted my head, my arm resting on the side of the bench.

"A couple observations tipped me off. For one, it is 1925. Secondly, you seem to know Jefferson by more than hearsay, and I don't assume he befriends just anyone," she coyed.

"You are correct in your assumption," I replied, our eyes focused on each other. I took a breath before answering her question,

"Well, I grew up with money. My ancestors had always had money through business and politics. It was planned by my parents that I would one day inherit their land and money, as long as I followed their rules and married a politician or someone high up in the economy. When I told them that I not only wanted to be an artist but also had my interests in women, they disowned me." I watched Emma as she listened to me. She made the swing gently move back and forth, but not enough to make her go any distance.

"Anyways," I continued. "I moved out to the streets where I began my work as an artist. I would paint people, places, objects. I had a few clients, but I mostly painted for myself to practice. One day, a man came by in an outrageous top hat and suit, and he noticed my work. It turned out, he was an investor and owned a gallery in Times Square. He put my work in his gallery, and my client list immediately sky-rocketed. I owe Jefferson my life."

"Wow," Emma remarked, seemingly impressed with my tale. Her gentle hands were wrapped around the rope holding the swing, although she had come to a halt a few moments ago. Her ankles crossed the other as she relaxed. "That is one fascinating success story."

"Why, thank you, Miss Swan," I chuckled light-heartedly. "And what is it you do, dear?"

"Not much, actually," she sighed. "I travel around the country every chance I get, but I am spending the rest of the summer with my cousin Samantha and Mason and their adopted daughter Grace."

"The ones who live across the lake here?" I inquired.

"That's them," Emma nodded and hopped off the swing. "Their house is almost as extravagant as Jefferson's."

"Almost being the key word," I laughed. Emma chuckled in response as she walked closer to me. She put her hand on the side of the bench near me and shrugged her shoulders.

"Now," she breathed, "are you gonna dance with me or will I have to try to find another stunning brunette?"

"I'd be honored," I smiled, taking the blonde's hand. We ran back into the ballroom, and I instantly pulled her close.

"Let's misbehave," I whispered in her ear and dragged her into the crowd of drunken lovers.


End file.
